No Accident of Birth
by Ms. Krebstar
Summary: Through the eyes of Tara Scully...


"That bastard. That fucking bastard."

I sigh and finish rubbing the last of the light purple lotion into my legs and hands, filling my nose with the faint scent of lavender. It's been a long, tense day, not exactly the ideal family holiday together. All I want right now is to slip in some earplugs, close my eyes and sleep soundlessly until the kids bound in the room all too early, eyes wide and eager to see what Santa has brought.

My frantically pacing husband, on the other hand, seems to have other ideas.

"Come to bed," I say calmly, pulling the comforter up to my stomach and patting the bed next to me. The room is dark save the light given off by the twin lamps on the matching end tables, and he is starting to look like a caged animal, wild and ready to burst.

"I'm going in there." He announces, making for the door, his rage leading him.

Let the record show, I tried the calm approach.

"You will do no such thing." I reply, my voice rising only slightly. The Scullys may be willful and stubborn, but by now I have learned a trick or two about keeping them in line. Fiercely independent though they may be, they do listen to authority, and Maggie was certainly wonderful enough to help me realize a firm tone does wonders with them.

Bill stops in his tracks, his hand on the knob, but he does not turn around. The room is silent for a minute, and I see his body start to relax and release the door…

Until the sultry moans and frantic loud shushing that started all of this carry through the paper-thin walls once more.

Stifling a smile, I throw back the covers and pad my way across the room to place my hand on my husband's cheek. His face is red as his eyes bore holes through the bedroom wall, and his knuckles have gone white with his strong, vice-like grip. I place my other hand on his, making soothing sounds and finally manage to get him to release and place his arms at his side. He is still angry, livid really, but I know he is trying to keep his emotions in check, for me, for Dana, and for the Scully Christmas he seems hell-bent on ruining this year.

It had started off lovely enough. We arrived the day before just behind Charlie and the kids, bearing gifts and laughing freely, ending the night with a roaring fire and a carol or two. We put the baby to sleep and woke up this morning smiling and humming as we made his mother breakfast in bed. When Dana arrived late afternoon, Bill was still all smiles and holiday cheer… until Fox Mulder's tall, lanky frame stepped up behind her on the worn Scully welcome mat.

You could almost feel Bill's change in attitude instantly, as if it had been a physical manifestation.

Bill's holiday mood that morning had started off nice enough, but as the day with Dana's partner wore on, it became decidedly more naughty... And not in the way I'd normally prefer. I found myself placing my hand on his constantly, trying to calm him, trying to smooth things over with my touch. For the most part, it worked, but my dear husband managed to get a few harsh words and low jabs in for good measure.

He relented only slightly later on in the evening, and only when Mulder was doubled over in pain, being the sole person sweet and adventurous enough to try a new recipe I'd invented involving shrimp, eggs, and guacamole. Dana had taken him upstairs to the room she had intended to sleep in alone- on vacation but now playing doctor for her sick partner.

Bill is not normally so irrationally angry, really. He has a bit of a temper, yes; that's the Scully fire in him... But he's really a sweet man. To be downright antagonistic towards someone seems to be a trait he reserves solely for Agent Mulder.

I know he blames Mulder for a lot of Dana's heartache; he makes no secret about that. I think he even blames the man for things you couldn't possibly blame on another human being, like Dana's cancer and infertility. He just seems so desperate to hate Mulder, as if it'll somehow protect his sister from more damage, prevent her from meeting a fate like Missy's.

But it can't. Nothing can.

"God! Don't they know we're in the next room?" he sputters out as the moans increase in volume and finally give way to a very loud, very *pleased* cry of "ohhhhh Fffffoooooxxxx".

I fight the urge to smile again as this is the first time I have ever heard anyone but Maggie use his first name. The kids, of course, were introduced to "Mr. Mulder", and I had been forewarned to never call him by his given name. Bill seemed all too happy to have the extra distance between them, as if they were archenemies, and I couldn't help but think of Jerry Seinfeld's curt greetings towards his obese neighbor, Newman.

Maggie, of course, finds it to be nonsense. Part of it is her old fashioned nature, but I think more so it really has to do with her affection for her daughter's tragic lover.

I hear tales of Maggie being everyone's favorite mom growing up, how she always had a tray of cookies and a sympathetic ear for all of the kids in the neighborhood. So it makes sense that she would be attached to Mulder in a way, that she would invite him to spend Christmas with us this year. She wants him to know what a real family is like, I suppose, and she has long since resigned herself to the fact that her daughter has fallen head over heels for a dangerous man.

"Look at me," I whisper softly, my hand rubbing his stubble gently, my tone subdued now. I know he does this because he is in pain - over Missy, over his sole remaining sister's constant brushes with death, over his lack of control and feelings of helplessness… I want to wipe away the tears that would fall, should fall, if the Scullys would only allow themselves to cry.

"It's just indecent," he insists, deliberately avoiding my gaze.

"I don't feel I need to remind you who was trying to get whom to play Santa's naughty little elf not five minutes before they started." I begin lightly, resting my hands on his chest. He only grunts in response, and I take that as a positive sign.

Anything is better than him bursting in on the scene next door, ready to assault a naked federal agent with possible food poisoning.

"He has no respect for my mother, doing this under her roof," he continues, finally looking at me, the anger somewhat abated but still reaching.

"By the sound of those happy female moans, I would say he is certainly not taking advantage of her."

"We were raised Catholic." He narrows his eyes in response.

"And what?" I snort, allowing myself to grin widely now. "He's defiling your sister with pre-marital sex? Need I remind you that our wedding night was not our first time, either. And I hope you don't honestly believe he took your sister's virginity." I quirk an eyebrow at him, another thing I've picked up from this family I've married into.

He clamps his mouth shut, looking away again as he shifts his feet, not wanting to think about his little sister as a sexual being in the least. But I have him, he knows it, and he is left only with his pain. We are quiet for several moments, just listening to the silence that has settled over the rooms.

"He loves her." I tell him softly, as if afraid to break a spell. "More than any man ever will."

And it's true. My marriage to Bill is solid, and I am happy... But there is something about Dana and her partner that tells me their relationship is stronger than ours has ever been, that their love goes to a level I can't even see from way down here. Watching them walk side by side, his hand on the small of her back, I am stricken with an image of devotion I haven't seen since Bill Sr. passed, leaving Maggie widowed after so many years of love and commitment.

He sighs deeply and closes his eyes, his arms snaking around me after a few breaths. I sigh as well and rest against him, listening to his rapid heartbeat slow to a relatively normal pace.

"I'm just... Scared." He mumbles, and I am slightly shocked at his admission. Normally, getting a member of this family to open up is like pulling teeth. I guess the easy button lies somewhere in the combination of exhaustion, imagined rivalry, and six glasses of Maggie's famous eggnog.

"I know," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper as I plant a small kiss on his forehead and press him to my chest.

"He's going to get her killed." He is holding back a sob, but I feel it somewhere deep in my chest, wishing he would let go. "Isn't one sister enough for him?"

He finally lets go, tears streaming down his face as he grips my nightgown, and I rub his head gently, placing feather light kisses in his hair. I am rocked by his rare display of vulnerability, but I hide it well as I focus intently on comforting the man I love.

"Dana is a strong, independent woman." I say softly, holding this large, weeping man gently in my arms, wishing I could do more for him. I want to give him back his sister, give back the pieces of their lives and memories they still had to make together, the laughter they should have shared. But try as I might, I cannot, and so I hold him together.

"She can walk away from him anytime," I remind him, barely above a whisper. "Anytime she wants to, but she stays. She knows the risk, but she takes it anyway. It's not Mulder's fault Missy passed. If she were here, she would tell you it was just her time. And Dana tells me that Mulder is wracked with guilt over that. Over her cancer as well and everything else that's ever gone wrong for her, right down to a broken nail. He will never forgive himself, and it seems the only person who hates him more than you is, well, him."

Bill stopped crying at some point during my speech, and I even feel him give a weak laugh against my shoulder. I smile and pull him back to kiss his forehead again and wipe the tears from his face. Finally, we rest our foreheads together and just stand there, breathing each other's air.

"She loves him."

"I know. I just... Wish she didn't."

"I know." I respond, smiling only faintly, my eyes closed tight. "But she's a grown woman, and you have to let her live her own life. I know as her big brother you feel obligated to protect her from everything bad in this world, but you can't. Her life with Mulder may be dangerous, but... That's the only life she wants to live."

He sighs again, and I leave out the rest of what I believe.

I don't think this is just the only life Dana wants to live, but it's perhaps the only life she *can* live. Those two are able to laugh and smile and bring joy to a room, but there is something dark that hangs around them as well. Sometimes it is in their eyes or their bodies if it is not in their laughter... But it is always there, beneath the surface. I don't think Dana could be with anyone else but him. Their relationship is deep, and in many ways happy, but there is also a great sadness and tragedy no one else would ever be able to understand or share.

At this point, I think everyone else on the planet is alien to them.

Finally, I am able to convince my husband to stumble to bed, and I hold him against me until his breathing slows and he falls into a fitful, hiccupping state of slumber.

I find my mind wandering as sleep continues to elude me. This summer I had invited Dana to accompany me and the kids to the beach, and I found myself having to hide my shock as I was met with the sight of the bullet scar on her abdomen, even though I knew she'd been shot.

So a couple of hours ago when I walked into the room to find a shirtless Fox Mulder, it seemed strangely fitting that he should have a matching mark on his shoulder. Her face was flushed, bent over and straining as he muttered "Had you big time," in her ear, a wide grin on his slightly pale, sweaty face. It was a private joke they both shared, I suppose, and he was already looking remarkably better.

Briefly, I wondered if he had just been sick of Bill Jr..

I hear a groan next door that does not sound coital, and I cannot stifle the small chuckle that escapes me. While I don't believe Mulder took advantage of his partner, I find I can't really say the same for my sister in law. He had probably just started feeling somewhat settled when she convinced him to do all of that... Moving. I briefly wonder if she had thought to make it a little easier on him by getting on top, but I have to push those thoughts away before they begin to excite me, making sleep even harder to achieve.

The kids will be awake all too soon, and I will have to make sure they don't bound next door to wake Aunty Dana and her Christmas miracle.

I make a mental note to ask her about stocking stuffers in the morning, just before my eyes close and sleep finally claims me.


End file.
